


Burden

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: Pilgrim's Crown [13]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M, PoE Inktober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: One day, when he is leaving the inner sanctum, he spots something in the adra. Just a glimpse. A reflection of a face, too blurry to recognize before it hastily withdraws. A soul. Familiar.





	Burden

**Author's Note:**

> (PoE inktober, prompt 21: Burden)

Something has been hovering at the edge of his consciousness for days – weeks – but Thaos has not noticed anything suspicious, and blamed it all on exhaustion. So he brushes that aside and focuses on his duties; there is no time for rest.

And then one day, when he is leaving the inner sanctum, he spots something in the adra. Just a glimpse. A reflection of a face, too blurry to recognize before it hastily withdraws. A soul. But this cell has been empty for months…

Thaos concentrates, reaching out carefully, wanting to identify the soul, not to scare it. There are faint traces deep in the adra, just at the edge of his thoughts. Familiar. But why…

Slowly, Thaos walks over to the pillar. “Deòiridh?” he calls quietly, perplexed.

The soul stops. Then, hesitatingly, it comes closer, changing as it approaches; it looks as if a flame was lit on a candle and then enveloped it whole for an instant before taking on its usual shape. Fiery hair, pale face, bright eyes. A white dress, embroidered with copper, strings of adra beads around her neck. She is wearing her funeral gown.

It takes some effort not to flinch. Thaos wonders whether this is a test from Woedica or the other gods, whether he did something that displeased them. Can it be that they thought her moment of weakness could not be forgiven, that she did not deserve as much for years of faithful service and the trials she had to face? She should not be here, in Breith Eaman. She was supposed to start a new, peaceful life; he prayed, asked Woedica to grant her that.

Deòiridh’s face constricts as she watches his expression. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “I didn’t want to trouble you…” When she opens them again, they gleam with tears. “I just wanted to stay near. Woedica allowed me to. For a while.”

Ah. So this is Woedica’s way of rewarding the girl, granting her silly wish, something she would see as a blessing.

Thaos shakes his head. “Why?”

She looks puzzled. “Why would you need to ask?”

Because I asked you to break your soul, Thaos thinks, and you did. Because I was careless, and did not persuade you to believe the comforting lies again when you learned the truth. Because I killed you; you asked me to, and you thought it was mercy. There are many reasons.

And yet she is looking at him as if all that had never happened, as if she only remembered the brief time when she was happy at his side. As if all was well between them, as if she had never discovered that he might not love her back.

That is when it dawns on him. Woedica has been gracious indeed, letting the girl forget. If only for a while.

Thaos looks at Deòiridh’s face, both sad and hopeful, at her tears and her shy smile. She is radiating innocence, as she used to when he first met her. As she still did when he asked her to trick and betray Iovara. As she still could after that, when she found it in herself to comfort _him_ after Iovara’s death.

It would take so little effort, to be kind to her. It always has. But now, it will also serve another purpose – and that was Woedica’s plan all along. His Queen knows very well that his soul is fraying at the edges, cracked and exhausted, and he must do something to mend it, to keep it whole. An act of kindness which would heal another soul could do that for his own, too.

Thaos takes a few steps forward, then half-kneels, half-sits, putting his palms and forehead against the crystal pillar.

Deòiridh’s hands fly to her mouth as she gives a quiet, frightened cry. “No, don’t…”

He opens his eyes in the realm where there are only their souls against the endless, glimmering depth of adra. “It’s safe, for me,” he reassures.

She blinks, staring at him, her thoughts an open book for him to read: she never expected to see him so close again, at an arm’s length, to see him like this, to talk to him, to… She is overwhelmed.

In this realm, perceived with his soul’s eyes only, her inner glow is visible – a soft halo around her head. She has never been beautiful in life, merely pretty, if a bit plain. Now she is.

There is even no need to pretend; he did like her in a way, after all.

Thaos reaches out and gently cradles her face in his palms. “You still look like a candle,” he says quietly.

She blushes; he can feel her cheeks heating up under his touch. There is a small sun blazing behind her head now; her love. Ever constant.

Timidly, she brushes her fingertips across the runes embroidered on his robe. “Only to you,” she whispers.

To anyone who has eyes and was taught to watch, he wants to say. But he knows what she means, and he will not taint her memories of their more intimate moments by dismissing that.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I didn’t want you to notice me. Just… wanted to be near. To see you sometimes. See your soul.” She casts her eyes down. “Make sure that you are all right,” she adds, in a voice that suggests she is aware of how silly that sounds.

Thaos strokes her cheek with his thumb. When she still does not lift her head, he leans in and kisses her. It is different than kisses in the physical world – chaste, _soulful_ by its very definition because what else could it be here?

Deòiridh holds onto his hands, as she used to, and sighs when he pulls away. “Oh.” There is a small, happy smile on her lips as she looks up at him. “I missed you, too,” she confesses.

He does miss her, in a way. She made his life easier, more comfortable; alleviated the pain he inflicted upon his soul. Made everything more bearable; took care of his soul for him.

“Come here,” he says, instead of a reply, and pulls her into his arms.

She clings to him, warm and soft. Soothing; he misses that.

“I’m sorry about… the gown?” she mutters. “But it was the prettiest I’ve ever worn. I can… I think I can change that, if you want.”

He strokes her hair. “Hush. It’s fine.”

If that gives her so much joy, let her have it. Besides, it is his own fault; it would have been so easy, to buy her a gown. Thaos accepts that brief pang of guilt and lets it pass. That kind of regret is healing as well, but he rarely can afford it.

“You look beautiful in it,” he murmurs into her ear.

It is a little morbid, true. That does not bother him, though, and she is past that now – she is that hopeful girl again, and a gown is just that – a pretty thing. She has not seen enough pretty things in her short life. That, too, is his fault. But some of those she has, he showed her.

He focuses on that now, on the thoughts of them together. Reading the same scroll in bed. Him teaching her soulmastery. Tucking a pilgrim’s crown behind her ear. Holding hands, their fingers interlaced. Her falling asleep in his embrace. Quiet, calm memories. Ones that can soothe a soul and convince it to depart.

Her arms tighten around his waist; she can sense his intent, even now. “Please, let me stay for a while? You won’t even see me, promise.”

“No,” Thaos says, because words take no effort at all. “I do want to see you.”

She flares up with a light so bright that it momentarily blinds him, burns its way into his soul, fills some of the cracks with flames and melts the fabric until it mends.

* * *

 

He keeps seeing her, whenever he descends into the inner sanctum. Just a blur; her smiling face and worried eyes visible in the adra for an instant, and then she is gone, fleeting as a breath.

Thaos can feel her love, a beacon of warm light at the edge of his consciousness, ever present, ever constant. It heals some cracks in his soul.

It rubs salt into others. He cannot afford to think of it, not now. Not ever. Woedica would not allow it. A corner of his lips crooks up in a self-conscious, sour smile. Ah, his Queen must be very amused by this. Playing with minds and souls has always been her favourite source of entertainment. And still, he cannot begrudge her for it; she is the Queen, and it is her right do to as she pleases. Besides, he envies her that ability to find joy so easily.

But he cannot go on like this; it was not supposed to be a long-term arrangement. It is a reward, for the girl; a duty he owes to her and to his own soul; a test for him, whether he can judge the situation and his own thoughts on the matter correctly.

That is why he is here now, on his knees, his head bowed. “My Queen.”

Woedica answers before he even asks the first question. “Yes, she is free to go, should she wish to. And yes, I will see that her next life should be peaceful.” She puts her hand on his head, her fingers dipping into his hair. “I am not unnecessarily cruel.”

“Thank you, my Queen.”

“You came here to pray for her, didn’t you?” Woedica tips his head up, forcing him to look at her. “Why?”

Thaos meets her gaze calmly. “Because that is justice.”

“Yes, it is.” The Queen nods. “Is your soul mended, my Favoured, now that justice has been served?”

“Parts of it,” he replies. “Enough,” he adds, knowing that is the only important information. Besides, she could easily see that, if she wanted.

“Good.” Woedica takes a step back and motions at him, giving him permission to get up. “Go and send her away, then, if you want. Or keep her here for a while longer, if that will help you more.”

“I will, my Queen.”

He blinks, and Woedica is gone. But there is a glimmer pulsing rhythmically in the adra like laughter. Not mocking; soft, silvery bells and adra chimes; the laughter that always echoes in his soul.

As the sanctum door close behind him, Thaos realises he has never heard Deòiridh laugh.

* * *

 

She is there when he slips into the adra. Waiting, as she always has. Had. Quiet, patient. Sad.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, reaching out towards him and stopping mid-motion. Her eyes are wet with tears. “I didn’t want to hurt you… I…” She shakes her head, lowering her gaze. “How silly of me, to think I could somehow help you now.”

She does not deserve this, Thaos thinks. This is not justice; she has suffered enough.

“It’s not your fault,” he explains softly, lifting his hand to cradle her face. “I know you meant well.”

“That’s not enough, is it?”

“Deòiridh.” Thaos tilts her head up, and finally she looks at him. “You have never hurt me.” He was the one who hurt her, but she does not need to remember; she will be happier if she does not.

“But I…” She blinks, and the tears spill onto her cheeks. “I can sense your pain,” she finishes quietly.

For once, he can be honest with her, and that will be the answer she would like to hear most. “Because you should not be here,” he says gently, wiping her tears away. “You should be living a new, happy life, away from all this.”

Deòiridh puts her hand over his heart, timidly but without hesitation. “This is all I want,” she confesses. “To be near you.” She shakes her head. “But you are right, of course. I should go.”

She attempts to step back, but he embraces her, and she falls into his arms and clings to him, soft and pliant, warm, and oh, so luminous.

“Would you do something for me?” she mutters, laying her hands on his chest and her head on his shoulder.

“What is it?” he murmurs, stroking her hair.

“Please find me in another life?” Her fingers are restless, tracing the runes embroidered on his robe. “If Woedica lets you,” she adds immediately.

His palm stops moving. “Are you certain?” he asks softly. He does not want to clarify, because she deserves to forget, to remember only good moments… But he owes her that chance to back away from a promise she might not be aware of making. From words she will not even regret later, which somehow makes it worse.

That, and acts of kindness will stitch his soul together… And this question is perhaps the kindest thing he has ever done for her.

“Why would I not be?” She pulls away, looks up at him in confusion. “You have never hurt me.”

Thaos is silent. True, he has not; he only let her hurt herself. Only asked her to.

She lifts her hand and hesitantly touches his cheek. “Thaos?”

He kisses the inside of her palm. “If Woedica lets me, I will.”

With a sigh, Deòiridh leans against him, suddenly calm. No longer a blinding light; she is glowing softly, burning steadily like a candle. “Thank you.”

“It is the least I can do, after what you did for me,” he admits. Truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“Don’t say that.” Her arms slip around his waist. “You owe me nothing.” She nuzzles his neck; her nose tickles. “But you owe your soul.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of it. But what you mean by that is impossible right now. ” He briefly kisses the top of her head. “Maybe in another life.”

Deòiridh pulls away again, looks deeply into his eyes. For a moment, Thaos is certain she will ask him to promise that. But she does not; she simply reaches up and cups his face in her hands and softly presses her lips to his. “I hope I will remember you,” she whispers hopefully, ardently; carelessly. This might turn out to be far from the blessing she considers it now.

Thaos strokes her hair, her face, brushes his thumb across her eyelashes when she briefly closes her eyes. “Just remember yourself,” he advises.

She takes his hands in hers; still shy and timid, but not afraid to act, having all the hope she used to but none of the fears. “Thank you for letting me hold it.” Her face is peaceful, her smile brilliant, and she radiates light strong enough to burn.

“Hold what?” he asks, puzzled.

“Your soul,” she says like a thanksgiving prayer and a benediction, stepping away, and the next moment she is gone; a wisp of smoke from a snuffed-out candle.

Thaos opens his eyes with a gasp, leaning heavily against the adra. There is nothing there but the afterglow of her presence, shimmering across his own reflection.


End file.
